


Don't.

by toadamie



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Psychopath!Eve probably, Soulmates I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toadamie/pseuds/toadamie
Summary: I wrote this right before the season 1 finale and then forgot all about it because the episode was so perfect I had no need for fanfiction. But here it is anyway, yet another timeline where things went differently





	Don't.

“I don’t want to shoot you, Villanelle.” 

“So don’t,” she announces, casually, like Eve has any actual choice. Like she won’t go and kill more people if she’s let free. The assassin languidly stands up, not at all threatening, but Eve’s gun still shake in her hand as she readjusts her aim. 

“Just give up. I don’t want to hurt you,” she manages, and they both know it is a plea. Eve understands that the woman before her has done awful, unforgivable things, but when she looks at her, all she sees is a hurt girl who wants to be loved. 

A girl who could kill her with ease if she takes just three more steps forward and gets in arm’s reach. Eve should have shot by now. She should have done a lot of things by now, and has an equal number of things she shouldn’t have done when it comes to Villanelle. 

Like the perfume she never should have put on. Or the jail she should have let her rot in. Or the car she shouldn’t have gotten out of. Or the step she lets Villanelle take now, one pace closer to her own doom. 

She locks eyes with the blonde and the room evaporates, the whole world evaporates, the only thing left is the steady gaze of her target. Her prey, technically. But right now Eve is the one caught in the trap, all because she won’t pull the fucking trigger. 

The look in Villanelle’s eyes confirms this, and demands more, demands that Eve acknowledge the fact that she is broken, just like Villanelle. That she isn’t made quite the same as everyone else, because everyone else would have shot her by now. 

“So don’t,” she repeats, and this time it is a whisper. A caress. A lover’s promise that everything will be okay, the world won’t fall apart just because you stopped trying to fit into it. 

Villanelle’s hand is on the gun, and at some point she must have closed the gap between them—the gap keeping Eve safe—and now there is nothing to protect her. Softly, she feels the gun be pushed to side, and she swears Villanelle brushes her thumb across her wrist on purpose as she gently disarms the agent. 

For a second Eve expects to be shot, waits to hear the noise and feel the pain and accepts her death with a calm certainty. But the moment passes and there is no shot, no pain, no death...yet. Her eyes flit away from Villanelle’s face and she sees gun held loosely, pointing away from her, moving backwards and to the side until it reaches a table, and then is set down. 

The assassin turns back to Eve then, and she doesn’t seem to move like a human, she doesn’t seem to try to move at all. But she glides and she follows an invisible path, and she closes the little remaining distance between them. The way she moves is like each step was predestined, like there is a physical force pulling her to Eve and she is just carrying out her part of a cosmic dance. 

Eve does not feel that way. She stumbles backwards as much as she can, but she can’t, not really, because there’s suddenly something behind her, a drawer or dresser, something with lots of makeup and perfume bottles on it that tip over as she presses herself further back. 

It might be her imagination but Villanelle’s face twitches, briefly, as the other woman backs away from her, and something in her eyes hardens with...disappointment? Which is crazy, this whole situation is crazy, and Eve is almost certainly about to die. 

She should try to fight. She should grab one of the bottles behind her and smash it across the psychopath’s face. She should run. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, Eve’s hand slowly reaches up, and maybe she was lying about not feeling the force pulling the two of them together, because it feels like she is acting out a part in a play she doesn’t understand or control. Villanelle’s eyes are now trained on her hand, almost desperately, as it inches its way toward her. 

Eve doesn’t know why she is doing this, or where she’s even moving her hand, but she lets the gravity between them guide her, and then it seems like there is only one logical place she could place her hand, one destination that it was always meant to find.

So she rests her hand over Villanelle’s heart, and the blonde gasps at the contact, actually gasps. Her head leans back and her eyes slip closed and Eve watches her and listens to her heart beat inside her chest. So Villanelle is alive after all, human, despite everything. 

Eve Polastri, MI5 agent leading a department to catch the woman in front of her, surrenders in that moment. She surrenders to the mysterious girl who has chased her every bit as much as she has been chased. She surrenders to herself and deep down, finally admits that she can never go back to who she was. 

Who she pretended to be. If Villanelle’s soul exists as a black pit so does hers. If it doesn’t exist at all perhaps she was born without one either. 

She moves her hand upward, tracing across V’s collarbone, dragging gently around her exposed neck, past her perfect jaw, and brushes up to her cheek. And then the blonde lowers her head and Eve’s other hand reaches up and they are staring at each other as she cups Villanelle’s face in her hands. 

Four silent beats pass, and it could have been eternity before Eve felt the need to look away. She drinks in the other woman, she dives into her eyes and her soul, and any last ties she felt to her organization or country or friends slips away under what she finds. 

Villanelle is a monster. And she loves her. The woman looking down at her would kill her in a heartbeat and feel no remorse. And she loves her. It’s impossible, and unsustainable, and cruel, and a mistake. But she loves her.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they **** *** ****** *** ***, but that's beyond my writing capabilities. Please let me know if you liked this, or hated it, or have any thoughts at all! Season 2 promo pics are killing ME


End file.
